“The old man?” queried Joe.
“Yes, Hopkins, Hoppy for short—the fellow that owns this place—he and his wife.”
“Oh, yes, the people from whom I engaged my room,” spoke Joe understandingly. “I think I’m on the second floor,” he went on.
“Wrong guess—come again,” said Ricky Hanover with a grin, as he carefully replaced the chain. “There’s been a wing shift, so Mrs. Hoppy told me. She’s expecting you, but she’s put you downstairs, in a big double room next to mine. Hope you won’t mind. Your trunk is there, and your valise just came—at least I think it’s yours—J. M. on it.”
“Yes, that’s mine.”
“I had it put in for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on, and I’ll show you the ropes. If those Sophs. come——”
“Are they likely to?” asked Joe, scenting the joy of a battle thus early in his career.
“They might. Someone tried to rush the door just before you came, but the chain held and I gave ’em the merry ha-ha! But they’ll be back—we’ll get ours and we’ll have to take it.”